Nell: ‘Let’s go to the beach,’ she says.
Me: I thought it was a good idea.
Nell: ‘It will be fun,’ she says.
Me: I thought it would be.
Nell: ‘The storm has passed,’ she says.
Me: I thought it had.
Nell: Do you know how much flying sand mixed with sea water hurts?
Me: I do now.
Nell: Getting over the dunes with the wind against us was like climbing Mount Everest.
Me: Going back was fast though.
Nell: Even Harriet took one look at the sea and shook her head.
Me: I know. It was a dreadful idea. The weather seemed calmer back at home.
Nell: Did it really though? Weren’t the overturned bins a clue?
Me: It wasn’t one of my wisest decisions. It looks much brighter now.
Nell: Oh no you don’t. I am going to ask Tony when he delivers the post. I’m not trusting you. He usually knows what’s happening with the weather.
Me: Fair enough.
Nell: Now, what’s your opinion on poetry?
Me: I like it. Especially yours.
Nell: But what about the Queen?
Me: Does she write poetry?
Nell: No, I mean would she like a poem dedicated to her?
Me: Absolutely.
Nell: David has written one you see.
Me: Has he? Bless him. Can I hear it?
Nell: ‘Dear Queen I want to say to you,
We love you lots, we really do.
You’re like a dog bowl full of joy
To me, your Big Brave Beautiful Boy.’
Me: That’s adorable.
Nell: I’m not at all sure one should address Her Majesty as ‘Dear Queen’, or refer to her as a dog bowl.
Me: She’ll love it.
Nell: But he wants to perform it in interpretive dance with Gladys as the bowl.
Me: Priceless.
Nell: Are you serious?
Me: Yes. Sorry.
